


The New King of Baker Street

by VintageFloof



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cat Fluffiness Too, John Brings Home a Cat, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Married Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, fluffiness ensues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 18:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16455248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VintageFloof/pseuds/VintageFloof
Summary: Welcome to my first fanfic ever! My cat Squeakers passed away recently and suddenly. In casting about for a way to honor him, the Muse beckoned and I decided to write a story about him. And naturally, it had to be a Johnlock story. I think I did him proud, and I hope he loves his new home and rules it (and Sherlock and John) with a velvet paw. I miss you, Squeaks. Please enjoy, everyone! Thank you for reading!Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.- William Shakespeare,Henry IV, Part 2





	The New King of Baker Street

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table at 221B, studiously bent over his microscope. His latest experiment, studying the reactions of household dust to various chemicals and compounds, was so engrossing that he didn’t hear John’s footsteps on the stairs, nor his entry into the flat. He also didn’t hear John say his name several times at close proximity.

“ _Sherlock!_ May I please have your undivided attention for just a moment, if that’s not too much to ask?”

Sherlock finally looked up and took in the sight before him. John stood in the kitchen with several Tesco bags in one hand, and what looked like a… a small pet carrier in the other.

Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “John? What’s this all about?”

“I know that in a normal situation this is something we should have discussed beforehand and come to a mutual agreement about,” John began apologetically. “But this was not a normal situation, this was a now-or-never kind of thing, so I - I made an executive decision.” He stepped forward and placed the carrier gently on the table, well away from Sherlock’s experimental paraphernalia. Sherlock peered at it curiously.

“The mother of one of my colleagues at the clinic - you remember Nigel, the allergist? - well, she’s preparing to move to a nursing home,” John continued. “She was unable to take her cat with her and so was hoping to get him re-homed. Due to his age - he’s about thirteen or so - and his health status - FIV+, chronic respiratory problems and having had all of his teeth removed due to chronic stomatitis - the shelters they contacted were reluctant to take him, as the likelihood of his being adopted was pretty low.” John sighed. “If a shelter did take him, he would probably end up being euthanized.”

Sherlock smiled lovingly at his husband. His kind, sweet, tender-hearted John. “And you were not about to let that happen, were you?” he said softly. “Even though you’re not exactly fond of cats,” he added with a quirk of an eyebrow.

John’s smile was bittersweet. “No. I just couldn’t. Not fair to the poor blighter. A decision had to be made today, so I went round to Nigel’s with him after work and gathered him up. He’s actually the nicest cat I’ve ever met, fortunately for all of us. And yes, before you ask, I did clear this with Mrs. Hudson.”

"Hmm, I see," mused Sherlock, leaning back in his chair. "You found time to tell _her_ about it but not me. Fascinating," he added, with another eyebrow quirk worthy of Mr. Spock. He was doing his best to suppress a smile.

"Now Sherlock," John said, giving him "the look." "She _is_ our landlady, after all."

Before giving Sherlock a chance to reply (and knowing full well that Sherlock was just teasing him), John turned and took the carrier into the sitting room. Sherlock stood and followed, now quite eager to meet the feline specimen who had made an apparent cat-lover out of John. Sherlock himself had always been a dog person, but in this case he was willing to make an exception. Anything for John.

John set the carrier on the coffee table and opened it from the top. The sides folded down to reveal a fluffy cat with graying black fur and clear, golden eyes. John picked him up, held him easily in his arms and stroked the fuzzy head.

“Sherlock, I'd like you to meet Squeakers,” said John with that crooked smile Sherlock adored. "Squeakers, this is Sherlock, the one I was telling you about, remember?" John asked the cat, perfectly serious.

Sherlock, for his part, couldn’t help but look at them both askance. “ _Squeakers?_   Really, John?” He gazed curiously at the cat. Squeakers returned his gaze unblinkingly, attempting to suss out this unusual human whose hair strangely resembled his own.

“Hey, I didn’t name him, you know,” replied John with a smile. “Apparently he makes sort of a squeaking sound instead of a proper meow.”

“Ah,” said Sherlock. “ _Brrreep_ ,” said Squeakers.

Sherlock scritched the cat’s head behind his ears. Squeakers peered up at Sherlock trustingly, then gifted him with a slow blink. Sherlock and John smiled, first at each other, then at their new flatmate.

“Well, suppose we should let him get acquainted with his new digs, yeah?” said John, setting Squeakers gently on the floor. The curious feline looked around and slowly began to peruse the room, stopping every now and then to sniff at one thing or another. Which reminded Sherlock of something…

“Er, I assume that he’s going to need a… litter box?” he asked, with a slight wrinkle of his nose.

“Ah! Yes, thanks for the reminder.” John fetched the Tesco bags from the kitchen, sat down on the sofa and began to lay out their contents on the coffee table. Sherlock sat down beside him, brows furrowed in consternation as he took it all in.

“He’s got a litter box, a bag of litter here with a scoop, some cans of wet food,” John announced as he brought out each item, “a bendy stick thing with a feather on the end he likes to play with, and of course his brush. He’s going to need a _lot_ of brushing, as you can see.” Sherlock could indeed see. He was already imagining the experiments he could conduct on cat fur. He took up the feather toy and frowned as he bounced it in the air. What a silly thing it was. Cats were apparently quite easy to entertain. Sherlock began to clear out a room in his mind palace for Squeakers. The feline was undoubtedly going to prove an interesting - and yes, he admitted it, adorable - study.

Squeakers carried on his inspection of the sitting room, fluffy tail in the air, while John continued his recitation of their new resident's requirements. “He will need to stay indoors, and should not be let near other cats unless they are FIV+ as well. He can only eat the paté style wet food as it’s easier for him to eat since he has no teeth. Other than that, he shouldn’t be much of a problem to have around.” John turned his head and gazed at his husband pointedly. “As long as _someone_ doesn’t leave body parts or caustic chemicals lying around for him to get into.”

Sherlock put on his best affronted expression. “Why John, I’m sure I don’t have the  _faintest_ idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” For some reason, John seemed skeptical. Sherlock leaned over and laid a smooch on John’s lips. “I won’t, I promise.”

Squeakers chose that moment to leap up on the arm of the sofa next to them, and from there to the window sill. He stared down at the busy street below, whiskers quivering. He then seated himself, curled his tail around his feet, slowly closed his eyes, and settled easily into his new role as The New King of Baker Street and Environs As Far As the Eye Can See.

“Say, he gets around pretty good for an old man!” John grinned.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around his John and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Just like someone else I know,” he purred with narrowed eyes and a sly smile.

“Oi! Who you callin’ old?” sputtered John in mock indignation. The consulting husbands' sprightly banter continued, punctuated with much laughter and many kisses. Squeakers slowly turned his head toward them with a withering gaze, silently chiding them for disturbing his royal reverie. He could see he had his work cut out for him, training these two. _Ah well,_ he sighed to himself. _Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown._

__

_**Squeakers** _

_**Nov 27, 2004 - Oct 3, 2018** _

_**You live with John and Sherlock now** _

_**Long Live the New King of Baker Street** _

__

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr!](https://vintagefloof.tumblr.com)  
> [My Twitter!](https://twitter.com/vintagefloof)  
> [My Pillowfort!](https://www.pillowfort.social/vintagefloof)  
>  Join us, won't we?


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